Tiny Dog snagged her dewclaw on the carpet while running around with her toys. It broke. SMALL DOG BLEEDING, ALARM, ALARM. A minute or two of pressure stopped the flow of blood, but she needed to be kept still for several minutes to make sure it didn't start bleeding or get snagged again. Beloved Husband had just arrived home and needed to go change his clothes; I was in the middle of browning some chicken for Offspring the Third's dinner after theater rehearsal. What to do?
There, on the doorknob to the study, was the baby sling -- I'd gotten it out to show Offspring the First when she was home for Thanksgiving.
I stuffed a small fleece blanket into it, and then tucked Tiny Dog in as well. She was unsure at first, but then settled in comfortably. I could resume my activities and take care of her at the same time. Win!
I won't do it often. Or ever in public. (That's crazy-dog-lady territory.) Still, it was handy. And it reminded me of how very useful the sling had been with the Offspring, so long ago.
Poetry Thursday, Remembering Ben
1 week ago